Die For Me
by BananaGirl
Summary: What if KyraJack pushed Riddick too far in Crematoria? What if his anger and frustration of her running away got the better of him? Richard B. Riddick revisits his murderous side, but can you really kill someone if they're already dead? (ONE-SHOT)


Die For Me 

Pain exploded inside me as the left side of my face felt as though it was on fire. Briefly, I imagined the ugly bruise that would no doubt adorn my face tomorrow morning; such was the impact of his fist on my cheek. My thoughts were quickly and brutally dispelled when a well-aimed kick knocked my breath out of my body, sending me flying backwards and landing non-too pleasantly on my backside. To say it hurt…well, that would be an understatement.

My movements were slow and sluggish as I climbed to my feet. _'What the hell is wrong with me?' _was my primary thought. _'I'm Jack B-' _and then I shook my head, my blurred gaze still trained on the floor._ 'No, I'm Kyra.' _My mind corrected itself._ 'I shouldn't be standing here like a pussy._' So I catapulted myself towards my bald-headed attacker, a low growl escaping my lips, though more from frustration than fury. My fist pummelled into his stomach repeatedly, eliciting deep curses from him, before I rounded on his side with a rigid kick, sending him sprawling to the floor. I stood still, panting heavily, my gaze still blurred as I trained my eyes on him. He hadn't changed much. Still big. Still bald. It was surreal, though, to see him collapsed on the dirty floor of Crematoria – especially after all these years. All these years of forgetting, or rather **trying **to forget.

_Crack. _The unpleasant sound of broken bone resounded in the prison, coupled with red-hot pain, which indicated it had been **my** arm that was rendered useless. "Idiot." I hissed to myself, not quite believing how stupid I had been. His mere appearance had transformed me back to an immature, naïve twelve year old girl and I didn't like it. "Bastard." I yelled this, directly towards him, as I propelled myself forward, attempting to ignore the throbbing pain in my arm. Next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, his smirking face leering down at me.

"Well, well, well." His deep voice echoed relentlessly in the cavernous prison. "Shut the fuck up!" I roared, trying to catch him by surprise as I sat up. My body protested, pain shooting up and down, and I collapsed backwards in agony. "Fucking asshole." I swore repeatedly at Riddick, but he just kept the same stoic smirk on his face. _'How I'd love to wipe it off right now.'_ My body still wouldn't move. Crouching next to me, he reached a hand out, wiping strands of hair from my face. "Don't fucking touch me." I hissed, jerking my head away. "Jack…" His voice washed over me, but still I interrupted him with an insolent "It's Kyra." Still, he persisted. "Look, Jack, I-fucking hell!" A triumphant grin graced my features as I sent Riddick flying backwards with a perfectly placed kick to the stomach. I ran after him, my knee connecting with his face as he stood up unsteadily, sending him crashing back down. "How do you like that, you stupid twat?" I gloated, knowing I shouldn't really taunt the great Richard B. Riddick, but then not really caring either. My foolishness did not go unpunished, though, for he quickly sprang to his feet and punched me square on the nose. Blood erupted immediately, and I careened backwards, my hands wiping the river flowing from my nose. "Sorry, did I spoil your pretty face? Shame." His voice was straight, cool, but the look on his face was thunderous as he kicked my knees, making me fall.

Once again, I was flat on my back, a position I was getting quite used to in this fight, unfortunately. I looked up, expecting to see Riddick's idiotic smirk, but was shocked to see it had dropped. It was…indescribable. I had never seen Riddick look like that, ever, and it was freaking me out. I glanced down, and that's when I really freaked out. My left leg was covered in blood, a jagged rock protruding out of the flesh. "Jack…" His tone was softer now, but still his deep, familiar voice. I tried to correct him, to tell him Jack was gone, but I felt quite dizzy. The pain from my leg suddenly hit me at once, and I could see the blood actually pumping out of my leg. "Riddick." I managed to get out, regretting it as soon as I said it. My voice sounded small and weak, not how I wanted him to hear me. I wanted him to see me as some great warrior. Above all things, I had wanted to kick his ass. I wanted to show him that I was worthy, that I had grown into something worthwhile. That obviously didn't work out, because now I was laying on the floor of a dirty prison, blood erupting profusely from a wound **he** had inflicted upon me, all because he made me go weird, and made me forget things that I had fought so hard to master and, most importantly, bring back old memories and emotions. It was my own fault, really. I shouldn't have provoked him. As soon as he had come to Crematoria, I had started. I had thought, foolishly, that I could beat him. That I could make him hurt as much as he had made me hurt, all those years ago. And now, because of that, I was dying.

That thought hit me harder than any of Riddick's punches. I was dying. I knew I was dying. I was becoming light-headed, losing too much blood. "Can you hear me? Jack? Jack!" His voice broke through, and I realised that he must have been calling me for a while. "Why are you doing this to me?" I asked, surprised by the pained look that came across his face. "Jack, I am sorry, I really didn't…" He trailed off, obviously not sure what else to say. The room seemed to be getting smaller, and darker too. I suddenly felt claustrophobic, and a wave of dizziness washed over me. Riddick's voice became quieter, until I could no longer make out what he was saying. Each individual word slurred into each other. All I could hear was his deep tones reverberating around the prison.

"-killed you. I've killed you." The words fought their way into my mind, his tone and expression impossible to read. I laughed, but it didn't sound like my laugh. It was hollow, alien. It scared me. "Riddick, I- uh, Jack died a long time ago." I said, my voice smooth and controlled, but my mind was in turmoil. Dizzy spells threatened to take over, and a pounding headache gradually became more painful. The pain from my leg had vanished, but the warm, sticky substance that coated it was uncomfortable and smelt terrible. "You didn't kill her. I did." Then the worst thing that could have ever happened in the short hour in which he had returned occurred; I started crying. For the first time in years, I cried. Really cried. At that moment, I felt so weak, regardless of his rough hand in mine, stroking the back of it comfortingly. "I'm so sorry, Riddick. I killed her. I'm so, so sorry." A part of me realised I was babbling, but I couldn't stop it. His words returned, but still I couldn't hear him. I desperately wanted to, but his voice was indistinguishable. I couldn't hear anything, other than my pounding headache. I felt like my head was going to explode, as though my brain would burst. And still, his hand remained in mine, stroking me soothingly as my vision began to blur.

"She missed you, Riddick. She missed you so much. I killed her because I thought she was weak, but she was stronger than I ever was. And she loved you so much. She never thanked you, or indicated it, but she was so grateful. She was so grateful, Riddick. You saved her, and for that she loved you. She even understood why you had to leave; a small part of her understood, anyway. And still, she loved you. She never stopped, Riddick, never." I was babbling again, quite hysterically. I could hear myself, but it was as if I had no control over what I did or said. Tears dried on my cheeks, but more fell as his calloused fingers brushed them away. It wasn't soft or tender, by any means, but rough and awkward. But that was why I liked it. I liked it because it was Riddick, so very Riddick.

"I'm sorry for killing her, Riddick. She's sorry, too, you know." My voice was no longer hysterical, but soft and docile. "She's sorry for leaving you, for doubting you. But she's not sorry for loving you. She's always loved you." He was saying something else, but still I couldn't make it out. I could sense him coming closer, his lips near my ear, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine. He whispered the last thing I ever heard, the last thing before I died. Something I was so grateful for, something that made my heart swell – not because it was romantic, or what I'd waited to hear for years, but because it was a confirmation. A confirmation of how he felt. And I was so happy because, like his touch, it was so very Riddick.

"I know." His deep, commanding voice whispered. And then I went.


End file.
